Stuck in the Mud
by onheavensdoor
Summary: Alone in the woods he could almost pretend that the past however-long-it-had-been hadn't happened. That it was nothing but a bad trip that had taken its sweet time working its way out of his system. Set during Season 2. One Shot.


Daryl had been hunting. He'd been up since dawn, silently stalking the woods surrounding what the group were currently calling home. The sun was now making its way through the hazy cloud, it wasn't even midday yet and he doubted that lazy sonofabitch Maggie was even awake. His belt was laden with five squirrels and two rabbits that hadn't been quick enough when they heard the soft thud of the catch on the crossbow being released. Sure they had chickens, but that was them. The others. The group. Not him. He was fine on a diet of squirrel and whatever-other-woodland-critter that had the misfortune of venturing into the sight of his crossbow. He didn't need the group. He didn't need nobody. People were fickle. Confusing. Emotional. One second they cared, the next they didn't give a fuck. Daryl was better off without them. He stubbed his toe against a fallen tree trunk and cussed under his breath.

Dixon needed the clarity of time alone, the distraction of tracking his prey and that stab of delight when his crossbow bolt hit its target. He'd needed a degree of normality; a ray of what life used to be like before the dead started eating the living, before the sight of a walking decaying body hadn't become the norm, before the world crashed and burned and taken safety and familiarity with it. He needed a sense of his old routine, something that could momentarily shake off his previous encounter with imaginary Meryl , then almost becoming gourmet Walker food, coming this close to getting his head blown off. To top it all off, to add to this putrid mixing bowl of emotional shit Daryl Dixon did not want to deal with, there was the tension; the tension between Shane, Rick and Lori, the whole deal with losing Sophia, of finding her like...like _that_ ,had opened up a whirlpool of emotions Daryl wasn't yet prepared to wade through—he shook his head, he wasn't going down that road, not yet…Sophia needed to stay at the back of his mind- there was Carol—just Carol and her inability to leave him the hell alone and then, the thing that had recently made Daryl grind his teeth , that nauseating blossoming relationship between the damn Korean and the Bible-basher's daughter, hands down if he had to watch another one of their shit poor attempts to convince the group they weren't fucking, Daryl was going to puke Exorcist style over the pair of them and maybe throw in a couple of punches for good measure… he'd needed some distance from the group, for his own sanity he needed to be alone. There was too much in his head, too much going on.

Alone in the woods he could almost pretend that the past however-long-it-had-been hadn't happened. That it was nothing but a bad trip that had taken its sweet time working its way out of his system. That actually, he was back home, working off steam built up by yet another blow-out with his brother; preparing to go home to another beat-down and a cold beer. That really, the dead weren't fixated on living flesh; That the people back at camp, at 'home' were figments of his fucked-up imagination; That Glenn with his seemingly flawless skin that made Daryl's fingers twitch, his deer-headlight-stare that made Daryl want to snatch up him and devour him in a way he'd never imagined someone could, that that his knee-quaking smile didn't exist…

Daryl winced and for a second debated throwing up. He did _not_ just think of devouring the chinaman, he did _not_ just think of Glenn's smile as knee-quaking. His stomach turned. Oh yeah he did. There was a knot again, that fuckin' tight knot that coiled itself around his stomach and through his chest and weaved between each and every one of his ribs. He'd done the thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't do; He'd acknowledged that he thought about the other man and like a crack in a dam, the thoughts came roaring. There was something about Glenn's smile that made the inside of Daryl's fingertips melt, there was something about his voice that shook up the redneck's heartbeat, dried the words on his tongue, expelled all breath from his lungs, blurred and hazed his vision. The chinaman's mannerisms, jeez Daryl could list them; the Korean was like an over-excited squirrel; constantly moving, constantly striving to please and help and do something and not sit still. No hidden agenda, he just did it because he wanted to. He mesmerized Daryl. Nothing seemed to faze him; go into a city full of Walkers, fine. Get lowered down a well with a Walker at the bottom, sure thing. Ride into town with Hershel's daughter not knowing what was lurking there, no problem. Even worse was when the younger man lent over the fire and his shirt rode up revealing a slither of porcelain skin, or on the rare occasions when he wasn't sporting that baseball cap, or when Daryl woke him up for the early morning watch and he'd stumble out his tent all muddled limbed and sleepy eyed.

There was something about the other man that made goosebumps rise over Daryl's dirt encrusted skin, an aura that had managed to sink its' fingers right into his very core. Since that day when Glenn was snatched beneath his nose Daryl had been unable to shake the younger man from his mind and fuck-. Fuck. Fuck .Fuck. He was thinking about him again. He was going down that route that caused all manner of confusion to explode inside his head. These were thoughts for just before he fell asleep, when he was dancing on the wrong side of consciousness, when he was in the privacy of his own tent. These were thoughts that didn't need acknowledging, that couldn't be acknowledged or focused on. Thoughts that no one needed to know. He weren't no queer. Hell no. But the chinaman's lips…he'd spent a lot of time thinking about those lips, about that mouth, about the soft sounds the Korean made at the back of his throat when he stretched, about how if Daryl scratched just hard enough he'd be able to entice light red lines along that velvet looking skin of his... Yep Daryl was going to throw up. He didn't do romantic. He didn't do cute. He didn't do men.

His nose was still curled in revulsion when he heard it. It was unmistakable. And despite everything, it sent a curl of fear racing up his spine. He sunk back, body pressed to the nearest tree trunk, finger poised on his crossbow, bolt already loaded. His kills thumped lightly against his side from the sudden movement, stilling as his rested against the tree trunk, frozen. The sound of the Walker resonated through the trees a second time; a deep guttural snarl slicing through the early afternoon air. Sometimes Daryl wished they were silent, that the sonsofbitches didn't make a sound. Okay, so they'd be a ballache to see coming, to track and avoid and all, but god, when the undead rallied together and all groaned and moaned and snarled and wheezed, the sound never failed to give Daryl the heebie jeebies.

Daryl had it pinpointed. His keen hearing locating the source a mere 30 meters away, somewhere in the space beyond the tree concealing him, possibly in some ditch…there was a slight echo to the sound, a depth that suggested it wasn't on an even plan with the hunter. Daryl noted the third time the Walker aired it's voice that it hadn't moved, it was stationary, which was unlike any Walker he'd encountered before. Sure those bastards were dead, but when they smelt dinner, fuck did they move fast- in all honesty, Daryl couldn't blame them, the second he'd smell his Momma's Sunday roast, before she left, wafting on the air he'd shoot home like a lightning bolt—but this Walker hadn't shifted, not an inch.

Inhaling quietly and ignoring the incessant sound of his heartbeat that had suddenly erupted inside his ears, Daryl carefully peeked around the tree; dark eyes skilfully scanning the undergrowth and terrain; searching for a dip in the landscape. The bastard Walker was definitely around here somewhere…The redneck's gaze skimmed over the peak of the river bank and the Walker protested again, the sound rising up from beyond the bank of dirt. A momentary glimmer of relief echoed through Daryl's chest. He wasn't in immediate danger, he wasn't about to become a Dixon happy meal, at least not yet.

So the sonofabitch was down there huh? He could sneak off, leave the nasty pieceo'shit alone, not waste the energy or the arrows, it weren't doing no harm, it was quite clearly stuck...but what if it somehow got free, he'd seen it happen before…Walkers are desperate; desperation, a distinct lack of pain receptors and a self-preservation drive that only drove you to eat were a sinister combination. What if it got back to 'home', what if it got back and by some nasty twist of fate got Glenn. He swallowed hard. That same feeling welling upside him as it had done in that alleyway all that time ago. He didn't care about the others. The Walker could chomp down on Shane and Daryl wouldn't bat an eyelid, hell it could tear out Maggie's insides and he wouldn't even raise his crossbow; no-good-whore. Carl though or Carol…or Glenn…fuck, it was like Sophia all over again.

Cautiously and silently Daryl crept from behind the tree trunk; knees dipped, footsteps steady, breathing calm and collect and all the while his index finger hovering over the crossbow trigger, ready for any sudden movement, any blur of re-animated limbs. Daryl Dixon was not going to be end up as Walker chowder. He'd rather put a gun to his head than become one of those, than face the agonising demise that came with being ripped limb from limb and eaten inside out. The thought of turning into one of those things…Daryl shivered. No thanks. He advanced slowly and meticulously, gaze flitting from one shadow to the next, constantly checking and assessing the wood surrounding him in case there was more than just one Walker in the vicinity. Daryl really wasn't in the mood to be flanked by the dead.

Rotten leaves and mulch protested silently under the pressure of his dirt-worn boots as he drew closer to the edge of the riverbank. Stopping several yards from the sudden drop, Daryl hoiked up onto tiptoe and peered over the peak of the bank. A grin flashed over his chiselled features. Sure enough, there was the Walker; stuck up to its knees in sticky riverbed mud. Dixon knew from previous experience with that sort of mud, bitch wasn't going nowheres. Again Daryl's defences dipped, he could take a moment to relax knowing that the Walker wasn't about to make a sudden beeline for his brains or jugular. He lowered the crossbow and edged forward, into the dead creatures sights.

Suddenly roused from the presence of a beating heart the Walker - the remains of a woman- jerked and lashed out, her mournful grabby hands reaching towards Daryl as she clawed mindlessly at the surrounding air. The Walker snarled, the gut-wrenching sound bouncing off the curved edge of the riverbank. The mud held fast, letting out an unsatisfied and unyielding squelch as the Walker tried in vain to free itself. "Do that all you want darlin', that shit ain't gonna let you go." Taunting the dead. Hadn't his Momma warned him about shit like this? Bad karma and all that? So far as Daryl could see karma had very little else to throw at him; it had taken his brother, left him with a group of emotionally defective idiots, wrenched the one reason he had for sticking around from his grasp, left him with several bullet holes, a necklace of ears and given him a crush or whatever-the-fuck-it-was on another straight man, a chinaman no less, who had a thing goin' on with their groundskeeper's daughter. Short of actually subjecting him to a Walker bite, karma didn't have anything left to piss on him with.

Dropping to the ground next to a hollow log, Daryl dangled his legs over the edge of the riverbank, kicking them childishly for a moment, uncaring as the mud stained his jeans. The Walker practically screamed at him, opening its blood stained mouth as wide as the cracked skin would allow and in the process giving Daryl a delightful view almost straight down into its stomach. There was a chilling desperation in every one of its wild trashes and unmethodical jerks. It was hell bent on getting out of that mud and sinking its teeth into whatever part of Daryl it could reach first.

Resting his crossbow beside him, he pulled a flask off his belt, unscrewed the cap and took a sip. His gaze remained fixated on the Walker as he gulped down several mouthfuls of water, adam's apple bobbing silently with each swallow. "You thirsty babydoll?" He leered, tilting the flask towards the decayed being. The Walker growled in response. "Takin' that as a no. You look more hungry to be honest—I sure as fuck ain't wastin' one of these critters.." he pointed at his squirrel laden belt. "... on you-not much food 'round here, least o' all if you're a slow movin' sonofabitch like yourself. Guess you've discovered that huh?" He took another swig from the bottle then re-fastened it to his waist. His movement once again triggered a violent response in the Walker, more thrashing ensued, following by a sinister crack that made Daryl wince. He picked up his crossbow. "Wow, lady you must want me bad, fucked that leg of yours up good an' proper there darlin'" He nodded towards the angry piece of bone that was now protruding from the Walker's left kneecap.

"Do I really look that tasty?" Daryl got another snarl in response. "I ain't showered in…." Daryl trailed off. The last time he'd been under the spray of a shower had been back at the CDC. "Forget about it, it's been a while, hell I ain't really a fan of the whole cleanin' thing, but I guess to your type that's just extra seasonin'…."The Walker let out another wail almost in agreement, once again trying and failing to move its leg. The bone cracked loudly again, the creature's thigh slowly tearing away from its kneecap. "Alright, alright, jeez, anyone would think you ain't eaten in forever or somethin'." Since discovering Sophia, this was the most animated conversation Daryl had had with anything. He wasn't a talker. He hated talking. Why talk when you could just ignore it. What was the point in venting? It never changed anything, at least not in Daryl's world.

"Anyways, hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I ain't really lookin' for anythin', least of all from your type." The Walker thrashed again. "I bet ya'll were pretty once, you look it, sorta, I mean I gotta squint a lot an' yanno, ignore that fuckoff hole in your jaw an' the fact you don't have a nose an'—darlin' ya'll got, like, an eyeball missin' there? That's real gross…but yeah, despite all that, I bet you were pretty once…can't tell what colour your hair used to be…looks like shit now dollface, real shitty. You really ain't a looker now. But I bet you once were. Prom Queen shit an' that. Meryl woulda probably pushed up on ya'll. He did that a lot, caught me lookin' at a girl then go over and get all handsy with 'em right in front of me. He thought it'd rile me up. Sometimes it did." Daryl bit at his lower lip, eyes glazing over for a moment. If Meryl had seen the way he'd been looking at Glenn, if Meryl had had any idea what situations Daryl's imagination had put him and the chinaman in… His teeth punctured his lip.

"Fuck I ain't no queer. Okay so I ain't ever never really been into girls, hell I hadn't had the time for that what with lookin' after myself, survivin' yanno, keepin' mah head down an' avoiding Pa an' Meryl, so I ain't really had time to look at no dolls—an' now, well—I guess..." He shook his head. Skin-on-skin contact wasn't a priority now the world had gone to shit, in truth it had never been a priority. He'd almost had a first kiss, he couldn't remember her name, he hadn't been sober, but he'd almost had one until Meryl jumped in. Since then the thought of sharing such close contact with another human ranked alongside being locked in a room full of Walkers with only a toothpick to defend himself with. "I bet you' been kissed. Back before you were an undead skank. I bet ya'll had a boyfriend…or a husband or some'it." Daryl laughed bitterly. "I ain't ever had no kiss, ain't ever had nothing. Not got to first base ever." The Walker made a low sound at the back of its throat, eyeing Daryl hungrily. "Bet you'd like to kiss me wouldn't you darlin'?" His lip curled into a sneer, his voice lowering to a dark growl. "Rather gouge out my own eyes with mah fingers."

Daryl cocked his head to one side, dragging his gaze down the Walker's tattered form. "Yeah, ya'll really ain't my type. Even done up all pretty and yanno, not dead, ya'll wouldn't be my type. Not now. Maybe before. But—" Despite the fact he was speaking to a creature seemingly incapable of conscious thought, Daryl's gaze dropped to the floor with embarrassment. "…I guess he's kinda like a girl, I mean he has like, these real long eyelashes an' these real ladylike lips…like ya'lls used to be I bet, an' he looks like, slim an' smooth an' he smells good, like, all the time, he smells amazin' like…clean, like a girl would smell an' he's got this smile, it sorta reminds me of Lacee Korbine's, like it's a real easy smile, real pretty, fuck, it's prettier than Lacee's, way prettier...only he's not meant to be pretty. His smile ain't meant to make me feel like this." Daryl shook his head, idly picking at the dirt that was forever encrusted under his bitten back nails.

"Yanno, the other night, I thought about sayin' somethin'—total moment o' madness yanno, I was lyin' thur an' just thought, fuckit. I'ma say somethin', I'ma put a stop to this shit, coz maybe, maybe it'll scare me outta these goddamn feelin's, confrontin' it an' all." Daryl's head fell into his hands. "But then I was like, what the fuck do I say? I mean, he's fuckin' with someone else, an' boy do they make a song an' dance about that shit, kissin' all the time in front of ya'lls, it's sicken, turns my stomach worse than your eye darlin'. I was fuckin' kiddin' myself though, like I'd fuckin' turn aroun' to the goddamn chinaman an' say, oh yeah, by the way, I'm startin' to think ya'll should be my first kiss, that zen with you?" He sighed heavily, wiping his dirty hands down his features. "Like fuck he'd say 'yeah alright then.' He'd fuckin' laugh at me an' I'd end up beatin' his ass an' makin' him swear never to say nothin' to nobody an' then never be able ter look at him ag'in an' then I'd just hafter leave an'... But, but if he did say yes, coz yanno, my thinkin' is, world is fucked up now, it's like, that fucked up that maybe he could say yes, what the fuck would I do then? I dunno what a fuckin' kiss like that feels like, I dunno what I'd do. I mean I don't just wanna kiss him—no heavy stuff, jeesusfuck no, but I wanna like…I dunno, like, be around him? But I can't, not now, not ever, coz of her an' coz of me an'…"

"Part of me, that real nasty part of me, hopes he don't come back e'er'time he goes out, coz then I wouldn't have ter deal with this shit, I wouldn't be catchin' myself starin' coz there'd be nothin' to stare at, I wouldn't find myself imaginin' shit coz there'd be no shit to imagine. But then…fuck, the thought of him not comin' back…He ain't mine. He ain't ever gonna be mine. He's a guy an' I'm a guy and he's got a cosy lil' love thing goin' on with Maggie…I'm stuck, I don't want these feelin's, I don't wanna be like this, least a'fuckin'all towards a chinaman. I can't say nothin', I can't do nothin'…I sorta wish Meryl was here to fuck it up, to beat me fuckin' black an' blue. To beat these godfuckin'forsaken feelin's from me. I ain't no faggot. I ain't into guys. I don't wanna be. I-" The Walker at this point had successfully managed to severe its own leg, it had pulled and wrenched at the already torn muscle which was now dangling from its lower thigh in rotten ribbons. The putrid lower leg stuck upright in the mud. It let out another gargle of nonsense, once again making sinister grabby hands towards Daryl. It unbalanced, tumbling palms first into the thick mud beneath it. Had Daryl been concentrating, he'd have laughed. Here was the thing they'd all been running from, stuck, bent over, up to its elbows in mud. Still, the Walker thrashed valiantly as if the constant movement would somehow release it from its muddy hold. It let out another frustrated, hungry groan.

Daryl's features hardened. The sound of the Walker's unceremonious descent slapping him back to reality. The walls came back up. The emotional barriers reinforced themselves tenfold. "Yanno, I'm fuckin' good with bein' on my own. I'm good without all this kissin' an' feelin' an' bein' with someone bullshit. Ain't ever had it. Don't want it. Don't need it. Can't miss whatcha don't have, right? Fuck it. Fuck him. He wants that goddamn sonofabitch, he can have her. It's not like he gives a fuck 'bout me. Hells if I were ter just get up an' leave none of thems would give a shit. Didn't give a shit before the world went and got itself fucked, won't give one now. I'm done with lettin' people under my skin, I did it with Sophia, an' she ended up dead, jus' like my brother. Fuck the lot of 'em." For some reason, the Walker disagreed. It let out another gargle, another sound that only came from something not quite if this world. It tore and jerked in the mud, sending vast waves of dirt into the air. It snarled loudly as if making as much noise as it could would result in Daryl's leg finding its way to the Walker's mouth.

"Quit yer goddamn hollerin'" Daryl had had enough now. The smell of putrid flesh had finally hit his nostrils. He picked up his crossbow. Took aim. BAMPH. Easy kill. He swung the dead log beside him onto the muddy riverbed with a practiced ease, steadily walking across it and then with a sickening squelch wrenched the crossbow arrow from the Walker's skull. The arrow had landed in her…in its good eye. Silently, he flicked off the brain or eye gunk and juice, wiped it on his jeans and headed back into the forest. He needed a squirrel to kill.

Glenn stood behind the thicket in stunned silence. Number 1: Daryl Dixon had never been kissed. And more importantly, Number 2: Daryl Dixon; hardened, tough guy Daryl Dixon of whom he was scared shitless of most of the time was pretty much in love with him.


End file.
